All of him
by Iikku The Eyebrow Master
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is finally fed up with the noises from flat next door and goes to complain about them. He finds out that the other resident isn't just one person. Francis Bonnefoy happens to be 4 people. Warning; multiple personalities, France, Fem!France...kinda, 2p!France and Pirate!France all in one! FrUK, maybe Noraco in the later chapters. T for now...
1. There's a transvestite next door

**Yo! It's me again. And guess what? I HAVE FRUK. I got this idea a while ago, and I just couldn't resist it. In here, Francis has multiple personalities, them being Jean-Pierre (2p!France), Marianne (Nyo!France...kinda) and Capitaine (Pirate!France). I almost added Neko!France and Mochi!France, but I managed to control myself...for now atleast. And like in my other fics, Emilie is Monaco. The first chapter is just introducing people, plus slight sibling fluff in the end.**

**Warning: Contains crazy Francis, crossdressing Francis, language, mental disorders, possible molesting and violence in the later chapters. Yup, basic essence of FrUK.**

_Thump._

Those new neighbours behind the flat wall were driving Arthur Kirkland off the cliff. Every goddamn day, there were noises, so irritating the Brit would NEVER get used to them, thuds, yelling, loud steps, everything.

_Thump._

He ran his hand trough his blonde hair, making it even messier. He had been doing that a lot lately, and it was a wonder he had not gone bald already.

_Thump._

At first he had ignored them, patiently waiting for them to stop. After a week, when they still were audible, for some extent even more frequent, Arthur started to wonder what was going on. Two weeks later, he had become seriously irritated by the noises. And finally, two weeks and 3 days later, he had had enough of them.

_Thump._

He didn't know anything about the neighbours except for there were two people living in the aparment next door, a man and a woman. He never had had a conversation with neither, actually he had only seen the woman briefly, the man was a complete mystery to him. Arthur didn't care too much about them tough; he wasn't a people person at all.

_Thump._

He clenched his fists and stood up from his seat, making the blue office chair fall over. He walked out of his office-library, steps angry and fast. It was a wonder smoke didn't rise from his ears. Arthur got out of his small flat and hurried on the door of the apartment next to his, knocking on the door calmly. He was furious, yes, but he had to remember the manners. He concidered himself as a gentleman after all.

Arthur heard a female voice, saying something in French. _Oh great, not only they are loud but frogs too? _The Brit was not fond of France or anything related to it. Why, nobody knows. Arthyr Kirkland is a stubborn man. Quiet footsteps followed the voice, nearing the door and finally someone opened the lock, making it click.

The door was opened by the woman. She was rather short, blonde and serious-looking young lady, her hair loosely braided on the side of her head (and far too many hair pins on it) and glasses laying on the bridge of her nose, a simple but elegant red shirt and blue skirt. Her expression was friendly, but Arthur recognized it to be fake, hiding her suprisement and stress.

"Ah, good day. How may I help you?" she asked, smiling politely.

"Good day to you too. My name is Arthur Kirkland, and I live next to you. I've heard a lot of noise from your flat, and it disturbs me quite a lo..." Arthur started, but was cut off by an absurd scene. Inside the apartment, there was the man, blonde like the woman, laying on the couch. He was wearing a purple woman's night gown, those sexy ones too with lace on them (barely covering the 'vital regions'), and had his hair on a bun, a small crown on top of his head. And to make matters even stranger, he was smiling seductively (and wearing hot red lipstick), looking at the Brit. Arthur fell speechless as he stared the hairy man in drag. The woman turned around to see what was going on, and started yelling at the man.

"_Marianne! Je vous ai dit de rester dans la chambre!"_

"_Mais Emilie..."_

"_Chut! Va-t'en, maintenant!"_

The woman dragged the drag (hah, puns) into another room, slamming the door shut. French insults were heard from behind the door. The woman sighed, said something to the man and walked back to the door to the baffled, red-faced Briton.

"I can explain that."

"I don't know if I want to know", Arthur muttered. The woman laughed.

"My name is Emilie, and he's my big brother Francis. Usually."

"Usually?"

"As I said, I can explain. Come in, I will tell you the story", Emilie said, motioning Arthur to enter. He gave her a questioning look.

"Don't worry, he will be there for a while", she smiled. Arthur gave up and stepped in the apartment. It was rather stylishly decorated, the colour scheme altering between blue, black, red and white. The furniture were a mixture of avant garde and minimalistic, creating a suprisingly elegant enviroment.

"Come to the kitchen, I'll put up something. Would you like to have a cup of coffee? Or maybe tea?"

"Tea would be nice, thank you."

"Of course. Sit down, I'll fix the tea."

Arthur sat down and followed Emilie with his gaze, every once in a while checking the door, just in case. Emilie began to explain the situation she was in with her brother.

"So the thing is, Francis is not...always quite there. Yes, that's a good way to describe it. He has multiple personalities."

Arthur raised his eyebrows for the suprise. This he had not expected.

"E-excuse me?"

"Multiple personalities. Yes, he's crazy, if you like to put it that way. I'm taking care of him since our parents are not alive anymore and he isn't capable to do so. It's...interesting. And sometimes, he or one of his personas does something that propably causes the noise you hear. I'm sorry about that", she said and placed a tea cup infront of Arthur, sitting opposite to him with her own. Arthur was slightly embaressed of himself, he had no idea things could be like this.

"I see. I have to apologise aswell, I didn't know about...this" he sipped the tea.

"This tea is excellent."

"Thank you. And no need to apologise, no one knows until they are told. Better now than never."

"I guess so. I have to say, I am curious. What kind of personalities does he have? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to..."

"Oh does it matter whether I tell or not, they will propably appear sooner or later and may even cause some...incidents in your life too. The least I can do is to enlighten you so you will not be suprised when stuff like that happens. Atleast Marianne will cause you some action, now that she saw you."

"Marianne?"

"She is the persona who is the controlling one at the moment. A diva, you might say. Flirty. Man-eater. Or that's what she believes, not too many men are brave enough to tag along with her."

"Obviously, it's a bloody bloke in a dress."

Emilie chuckled. Arthur took another sip of his tea as she continued.

"Marianne is actually quite close to Francis's real personality, minus the gender and the snobbiness."

"So does he dress up in lingerie even as his normal self?" Arthur joked. Emilie grinned.

"Suprisingly he does not. He would like to do it though, but Marianne doesn't want anyone to touch her stuff."

"But they are basically the same person?"

"Not what she thinks."

"Sounds like you have quite a mess in your hands."

"You could put it that way, I guess."

"Does he have other personalities aswell?"

"Yes, two. Both are men, and a handful. The other one is this grumpy guy who calls himself Jean-Pierre. He is pretty much the opposite of Francis, someone who hates people and social contact. He doesn't say much either; most of his communication is grunts and looks."

Emilie sipped her tea, and Arthur couldn't help but notice her lady-likeness. She even stuck out her pinky. It amused the Brit greatly, though he hid it.

"Sounds like a charmer."

"Oh he is okay, unless he is really mad. Then he is by far the worst. Then there is Capitaine."

"Captain?"

"Well no, Capitaine. He is very keen to be called Capitaine, and Captain will not do. He is a french pirate from the 17th century, and he is just...well, I'm glad he hasn't been around for two months. Propably will appear soon again though. Oh yes, I have to warn you, Capitaine hates England and the English. If you two ever happen to meet...be careful."

"Or else?"

"He might make you walk the plank."

"Somehow I have difficulties to see how that could happen in a city", Arthur looked at Emilie slightly confused. Emilie sipped her tea calmly.

"Trust me, Capitain has his ways. He is actually the reason we had to move from our last place, when he made the landlord walk the plank...from our balcony."

Arthur almost choked on his tea, coughing a little.

"Come again?"

"You heard me. It may sound silly, but it's as true as it can get."

"You are in a pretty rough situation. A brave woman you are."

"Oh please, you're embrassing me. I'm just doing my duties as his sister."

"Someone else might've put him to the looney bin already", Arthur pointed out.

"Hmm, might be."

They continued their conversation, getting to know each other. Arthur actually found himself to be enjoying Emilie's company. She was a true lady, despite her being French they got along perfectly. Emilie was pleased to find someone to talk to, when she took care of Francis she didn't have much time to socialize and it didn't help to do her job at home either.

"Speaking of which, what do you do for a living?" Arthur asked her. Tea had long ago gone, but he was too into the conversation to care.

"I am a poet. I have published a few collections, but I am not that famous at all. They know me better in France."

"Really? That's impressive. I myself am an author. Also, not that famous at all", he told, lighting up a smile on her face.

"Wait, you're that Arthur Kirkland? The one who wrote 'Behind the curtain'?"

"You know that book?"

"Yes, I read it a few years ago! It was amazing. I have to say, I never thought I'd be able to talk with the author! Not to mention live next to him", Emilie said enthusiasticly. Arthur chuckled, a faint blush rising on his cheeks.

"Well, things you couldn't even imagine do have a habit of coming true. For example, me finding a neighbour who isn't bloody annoying."

"Wait for it, Francis will wipe off that thought of yours when he gets here", she laughed, glancing over to see the door.

"He propably will be back to his usual self soon, Marianne has been around for two or three days already. Usually Francis gains control after a while."

* * *

Emilie was talking to someone. And that someone happened to be a male person. Marianne couldn't hear what they were saying, but she knew they were enjoying themselves. A wawe of jealousy struck her. Did Emilie really think she could snatch that man right infront of her? She was seriously wrong if she tought so. Marianne after all, was a charmer among charmers, even if her body was...not hers. His. That Francis guy's body. Which she happened to live in. A female in a male body.

Marianne sighed dramatically, tossing her hair of her face. She slumped on the bed among high heels she had been digging through earlier in the day. She wanted to go out party, find someone interesting, but none of her heels seemed to fit her mood. Marianne had tossed them out of the closet, and some of the shoes had hit the wall. She didn't care, she was having a goddamn crisis.

Laughter. Emilie was laughing with that man. How annoying. Marianne felt her blood boiling. She would've gotten out of the room if Emilie hadn't threatened to burn all of her clothes. Those dear darling clothes she had colleted among years, struggling to find the money for them (well, she had bought them with Francis's money, but who cares?). If only Emilie had not done that, she would be flirting with the man right now...

Suddenly she felt another precense. Of course, she always did feel three other precenses, but this one was now taking over, pulling her back. Which one of those bastards dared? Now she would lose her chance to meet the man, what if he was the love of her life? She frowned, grasping to the sheets of the bed as if it would help.

Francis.

That bastard was coming back.

"_Casse-toi_", she muttered, hearing a voice inside her head ansrewing.

_Putain._

"_Merde...je toi deteste_", she hissed as Francis finally pushed her aside, telling her that he hated her too.

* * *

Francis looked around him. Marianne had certainly made a mess. What was she thinking? She never put things on their places after using them, and now there were high heels all over the place. Francis groaned. It would be a nightmare to put all of those shoes back to their place. Then he noticed he was wearing a purple night gown.

"_Mon dieu...Marianne, casse-toi."_

He didn't mind wearing it, but Marianne did. She would take a revenge on Francis if she found out he was wearing one of her clothes. Not that he had intended to, in the end it was her fault. He glanced himself from the mirror, and was not least bit surprised to see he was wearing makeup. And of course, Marianne's crown.

He stood up and stripped himself from the woman's clothes, tossing the small crown on the night stand. He walked to his dresser, searching for his own clothes. Apparently Marianne had planned to stay for a while, since all of her rags were on the top. He had to dig deep before he could find his own clothes, pulling out black trousers and a blue shirt.

He heard laughter from the kitchen, his sister and some man who he didn't recognize. He was stunned. Had Emilie actually found company? And did he know what was going on? They were speaking English, that he noticed. He couldn't tell what they were saying though.

Curious, he quickly dressed up and wiped his face to get rid of the makeup. It helped a little, though the lipstick seemed to stick. He couldn't wrap his head around why Marianne insisted to use make up even if she wasn't going anywhere. Francis opened the hairbun, letting his hair flow free. He pulled a deep breath, and opened the door gently, slipping out of the room.

Two heads turned to see him, Emilie and her guest as he entered the kitchen. First thing Francis noticed about the man was that he had enormous black eyebrows, seeming unnatural in contrast to the blonde hair.

"Ah! Francis, you're back", Emilie smiled, speaking English due to the guest.

"Arthur, this is Francis, Francis, Arthur. He lives next door."

"Pleasure to meet you", Arthur said politely, offering his hand. Francis grabbed it for a handshake, meeting the green eyes of the other man.

"Likewise", he ansrewed, glancing Emilie questioningly.

"He already saw Marianne. I explained him your situtation."

"Oh."

Silence fell to the room. Francis was okay with Emilie telling about his personalities, it was smart to do so, but it was always kind of awkward. Arthur seemed to agree, judging by his slight blush. Luckily Francis was a master of breaking the ice.

"So, what did Marianne do? I found myself wearing a night gown, so it can't be anything too good."

Arthur's cheeks took a deeper shade and Emilie snickered.

"Arthur came to complain about the noises he heard from our apartment, and when I opened the door Marianne was laying on the couch, flirting with him."

"Really? Mon dieu..." Francis couldn't help but laugh a little. He had always given so good first impressions.

"I have to say, I didn't quite expect that", Arthur said, very-so Britishly. His accent was amazing, thick like his eyebrows. The man practically screamed his English-ness; his whole presence, the way he held himself, his clothes, his scent, all very stereotypical.

"You were in luck though. It could've been Capitaine. He gives interesting first impressions", Francis chuckled. Emilie asked him if the pirate was still around, for not showing himself for a while. The Frenchman assured her Capitaine had not left, he could still feel his presence.

"May I ask, how do you 'feel the presence'?" Arthur suddenly spoke out. Francis shrugged.

"I don't know how to explain it...it's kind of you being locked in a closet, closet being your body. In the closet, you have other people in it too. You can't see them, it's too dark for that, but you know they are there. You understand?"

"Yes, I think so", the Brit ansrewed, glancing his wrist watch.

"Oh bloody hell, I am going to be late soon! My brothers' have their birthday dinner today, I should get going", he huffed and stood up.

"Of course. I'm sorry for keeping you here for so long", Emilie got up to lead Arthur to the door.

"Don't be, I was quite enjoying myself. Hope we can chat again soon."

They exchanged a few words at the door and then the door was shut. Emilie returned to the kitchen, sitting next to Francis.

"It's nice that you found someone to talk with", Francis smiled.

"Arthur is great. We had a fantastic conversation."

"Hmm. It's sad that you don't have too much time to socialize because of me."

"It's not your fault. I can cope with this. I'll rather be a lonely lady with her brother close to her than get you locked in some hospital so I could make some floppy relationships."

"You're too good for me", Francis murmured and wrapped his arm around his little sister. She laughed and got up, walking to the fridge.

"I know. Are you hungry?"


	2. Cut your hair

**Morijentes! That's Finnish nonsense for "Hello" and I wrote it here because it's cool to say hello in different languages, right? Am I cool now? Huh? : D Well anywhore, here's an update for the story. Celebrate! It's short, it has no FrUK at all, but it has ACE! : D ACE is nice, right? Oh yes, and hair talk. Because I love hair. HAIRRRRRRRRRRGH. Okay this chapter is pretty useless and boring, but necessary for introducing new people! Hmph!**

"I'm sorry Al got this wasted", Matthew said to Arthur as they dragged a tall blonde up the stairs.

"It's his own fault for being a bloody idiot. Thank God he passed out, otherwise he would be quite noisy", Arthur responded. His younger brother laughed quietly.

"Can you remind me again why you two decided to take the top floor flat?" the Brit grunted.

"Pretty view?"

"It's the bloody 10th floor. Taking this drunk bastard there for a pretty view isn't much of a joy."

"I guess you're right. Don't worry, two more stairs left."

After a minute or two they had managed to drag Alfred up to the dim apartment. Matthew told Arthur to make himself comfortable while he got his twin to bed. The Brit sat down on the yellow couch in the living room, completely forgetting to take his coat off. Matthew's soft voice was heard from Alfred's bedroom as he tried to strip his brother, colourful swearwords slipping from his mouth, such as "you slimy greasedick" and "fucking tit cheek". Normally he would've left his brother to be, but now he was wearing his best suit and if he threw up, he'd be in BIG trouble. Finally he came back to the living room, slighty exhausted.

"Sorry it took so long", Matthew sighed and sat down on a black armchair. "You want to take your coat off?"

"Oh yes, that might be wise thing to do", Arthur realized and took of the black coat. His eyes noticed the lamp that was hanging from the ceiling, shattered.

"What happened?" he pointed at it, asking for an explanation. Matthew glanced up and chuckled humouressly.

"Al thought it would be a good idea to practice baseball inside."

"I see", Arthur smiled. Alfred had never been so bright in these matters, and him daily eating sugar so much it could kill a elephant certainly did not help.

"We've been out of light for a few days now, he procrastinates so much so he never gets himself to fix the lamp even though I nag about it all the fucking time."

"Could you remind me again why you two got to move on your own?"

"Mum had had enough of us."

"Yes, that explains it."

Arthur and the twins were actually half-brothers; their mother was the same but different fathers. Arthur's parents had got a divorce when he was three, and his mother had moved to States, leaving Arthur alone with his father in UK. His mother found new love in America and the twins were born, but it didn't last either and another separation was followed. She continued her journey to Canada with Matthew, leaving Alfred to his father. Despite the distances, the three of them had kept in touch and in the end the twins moved to England together so they would be closer to Arthur.

"How has your book been? Any progress?" Matthew asked. Arthur ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

"I've been trying to get forward, but I've had many problems. The plot seems to stay still, plus my new neighbours have disturbed me quite a lot."

"Really? How?"

"Ah, just noises from behind the wall. Actually, today I went to have a talk about it with them. They were very nice people, even though they were French."

"And?"

"What and?"

"I can tell there is more to that than just being French", Matthew said calmly. He had always been good reading people, especially his relatives. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Well, they're a sister and a brother. Emilie and Francis. Emilie is taking care of Francis since he is unable to do so himself."

"Why?"

"When did you become so curious? Isn't that Alfred's job?"

"His out, so I'm covering for him. So, why?"

"Well, Francis has multiple personalities."

Matthew blinked in surprisement and oh'ed. Before he could say anything Arthur cut in.

"I know what you're thinking, that the bloke is nuts, but he's not. I think. He seemed quite sane to me when we talked, and he was himself. Our first impressions...they were not so good though."

"What happened?"

"He was under the influence of one of his personalities, and that personality happened to be a woman. A flirty one. And this bloke isn't really feminine looking, so you can imagine what I felt like."

The Canadian couldn't help but laugh. The mental image of his prude and permanent-annoyed brother meeting a man in a dress was too much. Arthur blushed, but smiled. Finally Matthew managed to calm down, smiling widely.

"Sounds like you have interesting neighbours there. That's good, you were living quite a boring life anyway."

"Were not!"

"Were too. Al and I would go crazy if we had to live with you."

"I just happen to have routines, and I quite like them, thank you very much. Unlike you and your idiotic brother-"

"He's your brother too."

"-Whatever, I like to stay in control of my life. And this just popped into my head, have you payed your rent of the month?"

"We have! We pay it almost every time!" Matthew said, trying to raise his soft voice to sound angry or something, failing to do so. Oh, the times Arthur had come to save the boys from the landlord...there weren't enough fingers, toes and teeth to count.

Before they could continue their mild bickering, Alfred made a noise from the bedroom, a mixture of moaning and drunk rambling (The words "Yankees", "pony" and "alien tubes" were the only ones you could be certain you heard). Matthew and Arthur shared a look. The Brit rolled his eyes.

"His brains are still like a bloody 12-year-old's, aren't they?"

"Afraid so."

"And you have to live with him. You deserve a medal."

"C'mon, he's not that bad."

"I think he is. End of story", Arthur stated calmly and leaned back on the couch. His younger brother hmph'ed, amused, and flipped his hair off his face, which brought the Brit more to complain about.

"Cut your hair already. It's always hanging on your eyes."

"No it's not, just this one curl."

"Really? Because everytime I see you it seems like you're one of those dogs with their fur covering their eyes, you know what I'm talking about?"

"It's not that bad-"

"And of course, you look like a bloody girl."

"Oh come on, I do not. Many guys have long hair, and mine isn't even shoulder-lenght!" Matthew defended his mane. Arthur looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

"You're right. As a matter of fact, I happen to know one bloke who has long hair and he doesn't look like a girl."

"Who?"

"Francis."

Slightly annoyed by the comparison, the Canadian frowned.

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Really? How will I know for sure you aren't planning on to dress up like a pretty lassie?"

"Like what are the chances!"

"Then why is your hair so long?"

"I like it that way."

"Why?"

"Chicks dig it."

"They get jealous, that's what happens."

The Canadian failed to come up with a good argument, so he decided to ansrew by sticking his tongue out. Arthur smirked, quietly celebrating his victory.

"Will you cut your hair now?" he asked.

"No."

"Tought so. Well, don't say I didn't tell you to cut it. But I better get going, I'm going to meet my publisher tomorrow. Make sure Alfred doesn't shatter anymore lamps."

"You know that is impossible."

"Sadly, yes", Arthur sighed as he pulled on his coat.


	3. Negative Creep

**Again, there has been a long gap between the updates. I apologise. Also, thank Romain Grosjean for this chapter. Without him, this would ever have been finished.**

**Also, Manon is Belgium, Lukas is Norway.**

Two weeks ago, in the meeting with his publisher, Arthur had given up on his story and written the whole thing from a scrap, and had finished the thing just in the yesterday and sent it to her. Manon, the mentioned publisher, wasn't too happy about this sudden action, but had no choice but to let the Briton do his will. Now she had read the whole thing, and stared at the production's back page. Arthur hid his smirk when he sat before her, waiting for the review.

"Arthur, I love you, honestly, but this story...don't you think it's a little bit too much?"

"No."

His publisher sighed. Manon browsed through the pile of papers once more, and slammed her head on the desk.

"I can't see why I keep giving in on you. Your books seem to get crazier every time. I am dreading for the next one, honestly-"

"What's so dreadful in this one?" Arthur asked, slightly annoyed. He had had trouble falling asleep because some damned hooligans had been making a ruckus just on the other side of the street, keeping him awake for most of the night. It wasn't until three the noises quieted down. It was almost like a curse, every goddamn time he had something important to do the next day those hooligans materialized themselves and disturbed his sleep.

Manon lifted her head so her chin was resting on the table, green eyes drilling into Arthur's.

"There's a transvestite killing people, then raping them with a wine bottle. Then he casually returns to his work as a librarian- and oh, he gives the bottles away as presents from a secret admirer to random strangers he picks by using a phone book. That's what dreadful."

"I still can't quite see your point."

The woman straightened up and crossed her arms.

"What my point is, Arthur, is that you have a twisted imagination."

After a while of conversing what is and what isn't twisted, Manon gave in on Arthur (again) and promised to publish the book as it is. "A sick piece of a gruesome mind disguised in a wonderful form of literature", were her exact words. The Brit managed to hide his smug smirk while walking to the bus stop near the office. It was a cloudy day, rain would pour in any second. Arthur quickened his pace to get to the stop faster, if lucky he could catch the earlier bus and not have to wait for the later one 20 minutes. He had somehow forgotten his umbrella (honestly, for someone who has lived in England for 34 years he should remember such simple this as that!) and wished not to be soaking wet.

"Oi, Arthur."

A horribly monotonous, familiar voice called him from behind him. Arthur turned around to meet the cold eyes of his friend.

"Hello, Lukas. Long time no see", he greeted the calm Norwegian. Lukas nodded, not showing the faintest hint of emotion on his face. Arthur chose ignored it; he had known the other for years and knew there was no chance of seeing him expressing his inner feels.

"Indeed. What have you been up to?" Lukas asked, face still like a statue's. Arthur shrugged.

"Nothing special. I just met my publisher, and she called me a psychopath. Not directly, but that's what she meant, anyway."

"Ah, the same as always. So you have a new book coming up?"

"Yes, it should be out soon", Arthur tried to remember the exact date, but failed, "It's the usual packet, crazy serial killers and secret lives."

"Sounds nice. Looks like we are going the same way, care to tell me any details?"

So the two men walked together towards the bus stop. Arthur explained the events of the book, and tried to figure what Lukas was thinking, possibly even find signs of shock on his face, but the pokerfaced Norwegian managed to hide his thoughts well, only commenting when it was necessary.

"So", the Brit gave up his pitiful attempt of reading Lukas' expressions, "What do you think?"

Lukas tilted his head to left, thinking something.

"I have one question."

"What is it?"

"Where did you get the idea for the transvestite?"

Arthur chuckled, secretly (or not even so) he was extremely proud of himself. So there was a way to get Lukas puzzled.

"I have new neighbours. My first encounter with them...it was interesting, to put it short."

Lukas' eyes turned to Arthur, one eyebrow quirked up (the first time ever Arthur saw him do that sober).

"Oh?"

"They're quite nice people, well, Emilie atleast. I don't know Francis that well."

"Now, just hold on a second. Just...would you mind explaining what exactly happened when you met them?" Lukas showed now full marks of confusion, eyebrows furrowed and his pokerface cracked. Arthur had to hold himself from taking his mobile out of his pocket and snap a picture of this unusual event so he could present it to everyone. He let out a nervous chuckle and enlightened his friend of the extraordinary encounter with the French siblings.

* * *

Emilie glanced over the newspaper. He was sitting on the armchair opposite, eyes fixated on her. It used to creep her out, but by the time she had got used to it and managed to ignore it most of the time. But, it was beginning to annoy her slightly, he had been doing that for an hour already. She sighed, and put away the paper.

"What do you want, Jean-Pierre?"

No answer.

"You know, it would be easier to communicate if you talked."

Still, no answer.

"...Are you doing this on purpose?"

"...I don't like this apartment", he said. Jean-Pierre had a hoarse voice, a smoky feel to it. It made her shiver. Still, she knew he was quite harmless unless he was really pissed off.

"Well, too bad", she answered, "because this is what we have now. Your friend Capitaine decided it would be nice to play with the landlord and look what happened. Better get used to it."

"He's not my friend."

"Whatever. Anything else you have to say?" Emilie looked at him, trying to keep her cool. Jean-Pierre glanced the clock, then coughed.

"Formula 1 is on."

She stood up, furiously, and grabbed the remote, swearing loudly for forgetting such important matter. Jean-Pierre followed her actions, a calm (yet scary) look in his eyes.

"Hope Grosjean doesn't crash", he said.

* * *

After bidding a farewell with Lukas and managing to catch the earlier bus, Arthur walked up the stairs in the apartment building. He was aching for some tea and a good book, after that tiresome walk.

There was an obstacle between his tea, though, when he saw Emilie stepping out of her flat and walking towards the stairs.

"Oi, Emilie! Afternoon", he greeted her, gaining a polite but nervous smile from the other.

"Salut, Arthur, I'm sorry but I can't talk with you now, I have to find the landlord-"

"Oh him? He's not here. There's a note on his door, he'll be back at nine."

"What? Merde, no, this can't be happening..."

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked, growing slightly concerned. Emilie sighed, fidgeting.

"Grosjean crashed."

"Excuse me?"

"Romain Grosjean. The F1 driver. I was watching F1 with Jean-Pierre, you know, the groggy sidepersona of Francis, and Grosjean crashed. Romain is his favourite driver, and he's really upset if something happens", she explained. Arthur nodded, digesting what he had just heard.

"So...is there more?"

"Yes. He locked himself on the balcony, he doesn't want to talk to me, I can't open the door and he has a bottle of vodka with him."

"Well, that is kind of problematic."

"I was hoping the landlord might have a key or something so he could open the door but now that is a hope gone in waste", she sighed, running a hand through her hair. Arthur looked at her, feeling a bit sorry. But of course, he was a gentleman, he had a suggestion to this problem.

"I know how to pick locks."

* * *

So that was how Arthur got himself to the odd situation. Picking locks in the next door neighbour so a groggy drunk behind the door wouldn't do anything stupid.

It was Romain Grosjean's fault.

Just when had his life become this crazy?

Emilie was nervous, eyes averting between Arthur and Jean-Pierre in the outside. She had told him the sidepersona was an angry one, he didn't like when someone came to his personal space. So picking locks wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do, but hell, what else there was to do.

"Where did you leard how to pick locks?" Emilie asked. Arthur chuckled.

"In church."

"What...?"

"It's a long story. I prefer not to talk about it."

"I see."

Emilie's gaze back in Jean-Pierre, her eyes widened for a second. Then she flipped the bird, and Arthur could only imagine what had happened behind the window.

Finally the lock clicked in the right way and Arthur opened the door. Emilie thanked him, and strolled to the balcony, snatching the bottle of vodka away from the Frenchman. She was talking in rapid French, Arthur could pick up only a few words as she scolded him. It was kind of amusing to watch how she managed with the personalities, especially this one, as she was a short little lady and Jean-Pierre a gloomy creature (apparently, with a taste for strong alcohol). Emilie grabbed his sleeve and dragged the Frenchman back into the apartment and shoved him into Francis's room, still scolding him. Arthur laughed a little.

"You certainly have an eventful life", he said, earning a chuckle from the woman.

"Indeed. Again, thank you for your help. And I'm sorry for bothering you with this. Would you like to have some tea?"

* * *

Jean-Pierre sat on the bed and stared the door. Emilie was talking with the man who had picked the lock.

He was English.

He decided he didn't like the man.

Also, he didn't like Fernando Alonso because he was the reason Romain Grosjean crashed.

* * *

**Okay this was kind of uneventful...but it's okey, it will get better in the future! It's a promise! (Brain: Don't make promises you can't keep.)**

**Also, a virtual slice of cheese for the person who will catch the race reference with the crash ;D**


	4. Something common

**We're finally getting things going in this chapter : D Was about damn time.**

* * *

"Francis, I have said this a million times already; PUT NEWSPAPERS ON THE FLOOR WHEN YOU START PAINTING."

Emilie stood at their door, her jacket still wet because of the rain. Francis (whose face had multiple paint stripes) glanced her quickly before returning to his art.

"When inspiration strikes, there is no time for such things."

"There's a huge splatter on the floor!" Emilie pointed out. A large green spot decorated the otherwise clean floor, and it irritated her more than it should've. Francis chose to ignore it.

"You can't help it. I had to get this out of my system."

She sighed, and stripped her jacket, taking it to the bathroom to dry up. Then she walked to her brother to see what was so important that he couldn't even wipe the mess from the floor. Standing behind his back, she studied the new painting.

What was on the canvas wasn't something she was used to see.

"Nice eyebrows", she managed to comment.

"That's not what I think of them, but thank you."

* * *

Another tiring session with Manon about the book. There had been problems with the cover image of the book, and it had ended up in tears and declaration of a war. The image they were supposed to use wasn't something that would suit the audiences, it was far too gruesome, so Manon had asked the artist to modify it. Well, the artist certainly did not want to do that, and had made it into a terrible scene; now they didn't have a cover. And Arthur wasn't going to let Manon choose a cover, so it was up to him to find a new artist who could make a cover suggestion in a week.

He didn't have that much time.

Utterly exhausted, he finally got home. He dragged himself up the stairs to the second floor, and bumped into someone who appeared from behind the corner. His briefcase dropped on the stone floor.

"Oh, desolé, sorry, Arthur, I didn't see you!" Francis, face covered in paint, apologized and ducked down to take the briefcase.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it! It's as much my fault as it is yours", Arthur said. Francis handed the briefcase to him. The Brit muttered a thanks, and examined the face of the Frenchman. "You have a little paint on your face..."

"Oh yes, I didn't wash it. I was just about to go buy some paint-remover and kind of forgot..."

"You paint?" Arthur asked, eyebrows arching up. The Frenchman nodded.

"Oui, yes, just for fun. Sometimes I manage to make some money."

"What do you paint, usually?"

"Ah, nothing special. Beautiful views, abstract, little bit of everything. Usually nude people."

Arthur snorted. "Of course..."

"And what does that mean, if I may ask?"

"I'm not the least bit surprised you paint nude people. That's it."

"How blunt", Francis pouted. Arthur rolled his eyes. "That nothing new."

True that, even if Francis and Arthur hadn't talked that much, they had noticed they were going to end up bickering no matter what. They tried to act civil around each other, most of the time, but sometimes things just ended up in a loud argument. Not this time, though. Arthur didn't have time for that.

"Don't get this wrong, I am not a pervert who wants to see women in their nude glory, but is there any chance I could see some of your works?"

Francis blinked in confusion. "Why?"

"I'm in a pinch; I need a new cover for my book, and I don't have that much time. If you don't mind, I'd like to see if your style would suit the book. I'm desperate" he explained, meeting the blue eyes of the Frenchman. The eyes narrowed.

"Saying you're desperate doesn't exactly flatter me", Francis noted. Arthur huffed.

"I'm just being honest. I will not lower myself to kiss your hairy arse."

"And just where you get the idea my behind is hairy?"

"You're French."

They glared each other for a while. Then Francis smiled.

"Well, I'm on a good mood today, so I will present my paintings to your sad excuse of eyes. Consider yourself lucky", he chirped, and turned around. "_Allons-y, mon anglais._"

Muttering something under his breath Arthur followed Francis to the apartment. He couldn't help but notice a large splosh of green paint on the floor. Francis ordered Arthur to sit on the sofa and disappeared into his bedroom. The Brit scowled, he didn't like Francis to tell him what to do, but sat anyway. He briefly wondered if Emilie was home, her presence would certainly make this more pleasant-but he was interrupted when Francis returned with a sketch book.

"Here are some rough drawings. Do tell me if you find something you like", the Frenchman said and handed over the pad. Arthur took it (and briefly glared Francis, only to meet Francis' own glare) and opened it. His eyebrows arched up; these "rough drawings" were quite good, even if he hated to admit it. He browsed the sketch book, and marvelled the line art, how smooth yet edgy it was, the colours that seemed to make the artworks either glow or seem dark and evil, and the shadows that played on the pictures. The views Francis had drawn were surrealistically accurate, and the human figures looked like they could come alive at any instant; and the style Francis had was fantastic.

Francis' style wasn't only suitable for his book; it was like it was made for it. The images were speaking, and they had the same language as Arthur's writing.

"Well?" a dry, smug voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up, and met the blue eyes. Arthur sighed.

"I can't help but wonder why someone who is as irritating as you can draw so well. It must be a mistake", he said, and gave a fake smile to Francis.

"Oh? Are you actually complimenting me? I am flattered."

"Don't let it affect your personality, it would make it even worse."

"No intention to do so; your compliments are the same as shit, you uncivilised barbarian."

As much as he would have enjoyed letting this escalate to a proper argument, Arthur did not have the time to that, unfortunately. He put the sketch book aside.

"I hate to say this, but your drawings are fantastic; just what I have been looking for. Even if you are an annoying arsehole, you making the cover would be the best decicion I have made for a while."

Francis blinked a couple of times.

"Is this your twisted way to ask me to do it?" he said, and Arthur blushed slightly.

"Yes, it is my twisted way to ask you do it! I will pay you well, don't worry about that. Will you help me out of this bloody mess?" Arthur hissed. Francis chuckled.

"_Certainement._ But only because you pay me to do it."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "And I only asked because I didn't have a choice."

"Obviously."

* * *

It turned out, even if Francis and Arthur were like cats and dogs, they were after the same thing when it came down to art. Arthur explained him the plot of the book, and Francis drew his suggestion. Arthur wanted it bloodier, Francis sighed and said 'thank god, this was utter shit anyway'. It took only an hour for them to come up with something that pleased them both, and Arthur left the Frenchman alone to 'do what he thinks is the best'.

After weeks of bickering, they had finally found a common ground.

Too bad they didn't get along on any other field.

* * *

Week later Arthur was back at Manon's office. The Belgian woman was examining the piece of paper that was the cover suggestion with a stern look on her face. Arthur, calm as ever, leaned back on his chair doing his best to hide his smug grin.

"This is perfect", Manon finally put the paper on her desk, "it's amazing. I didn't think you could find someone this quick."

"I was in luck", Arthur stated. "Is it proper enough to be used?"

"Yes. Thank God. I was a bit worried that we might have to move the date of publishing. That would have been scandalous", Manon sighed, and opened her drawer. A bottle of brandy and two shot glasses appeared on the table.

"We deserve a drink", she announced, and poured the alcohol into the glasses and gave the other to Arthur. "To the absolutely invincible British gentleman I have to work with", he raised her glass.

"To the Belgian pain in the arse I have to work with."

They clinked their glasses and laughed. Manon downed the drink and poured herself another (she loved drinking, and knew how to handle her alcohol). Arthur put his own empty glass on the table.

"I have to ask, Arthur, where did you find this Bonnefoy guy? I have never heard of him."

"He's my neighbour. We don't get along, but he agreed to illustrate the cover."

Manon chuckled.

"So help is closer than you'd think it is. You were in luck, I have to say. But, enough of that. We must celebrate this proper!"

"Manon, I do think we should save the party to the actual date..."

"Nonsense! Loosen up, will you, you're always like you have your knickers twisted-"

"Oh for God's sake-"

"-Don't cut me off, I know this book will be a bestseller! It's so sick and twisted there is no other way. We might have a party before-hand, right?" she smiled, doing her best to get Arthur into her idea.

"No. I plan to stay home and relax until the actual date, so please, Manon, do not try to change my mind about this."

"Pleeease, Arthur, just a little dinner in a restaurant, just you, me and some friends and family, if you like."

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No!"

"Don't make me do the puppy eyes. You know I will if you don't agree", she threatened. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Puppy eyes don't work on me any more. You used them far too often in the past."

"You can always try," Manon grinned and leaned back on her chair. "Are you sure you don't want to have a little celebration?"

"Yes, I am 100% positive on that."

"Then I can't force you to, even though I think you're a dimwit. You're shit to be with when grumpy", she stated and took a gulp from the bottle. Arthur huffed.

"I'm not grumpy", he opposed.

"You're always grumpy."

"...Are you saying I am 'shit to be with' always?"

* * *

"Alfred Fucking Jones, I swear I am going to kill you one day and it will be painful."

Matthew glared his brother from under his brows (something Arthur taught him) while the noisier twin laughed nervously.

"Oh come on Mattie! This place was shit anyways. We'll find a new apartment in no time!"

"We have one week time to get out of this one! That's way too little time!"

"We can crash someone's place! Like Kiku, he's cool!"

"No fucking way. Kiku has strange comics at his place, that yaoi stuff! It creeps me out."

"Well, yeah, true, but he's awesome in other ways."

"We will not stay at Kiku's", Matthew said, and Alfred raised his hands in defeat.

"Fine! You have any suggestions, then?"

"How about Willem?"

"The guy's emotionless, unless he's stoned! He's scary! And old."

"Ivan, then?"

"He's fucking creepy, and hates me. NO."

"Katyusha?"

Alfred considered. "Well, she is nice, and pretty, but Ivan's sister, and I don't want to run into him, so no. Besides, she cries all the time. Why are your friends like that, they all are freaky someway..."

"Because your friends like gay porn?" Matthew said softly, smiling with a slight hint of evil.

"LAY IT OFF ALREADY."

Matthew turned his back to Alfred and took his phone. "Whatever. I'll call Arthur and ask him if we can stay there for a while."

"Arthur? Ugggghhh. Nooo. I dun wanna", Alfred whined and curled on the floor. Matthew sighed.

"Stop being such a baby."

"But Arthur is such a stick-up-in-his-ass. He always tells me to do this and do that and he can't cook."

"I'll cook. Will that make you feel better? And usually he has a reason for his behaviour."

An incomprehenable moan was received as an answer. Matthew kicked Alfred.

"I'll call him. You collect yourself."

* * *

**The next chapter will be fun to write : D I don't know when I will be able to update. Till then~ I like reviews.**


	5. Say no to salmonella, say no to me

**Yeah, it's been a while again...I am a lazy updater. But here's a new nonsense chapter that seemingly takes you nowhere but in the end it's necessary. Also, a virtual slice of cheese for the ones who catch the reference in Manon's last name.**

* * *

Despite his groggy attitude and harsh words, Arthur Kirkland had a sweet heart. Even if he preferred solitude to living together with someone, he couldn't tell his brother's to find another place to stay at while they tried to find a new flat.

(He wanted to, but he couldn't.)

Matthew wasn't going to be a problem; he was practically invisible. Besides, the Canadian was pleasant company and good in kitchen (and he seemed to enjoy cooking, as he never would let Arthur touch the cooker when he was present). Even if Matthew was passive-aggressive and when properly pissed, livid, he was fine. Alfred however, was a different case. He was loud, obnoxious, arrogant, energetic and a people-person. Arthur and Alfred always seemed to rub each other the wrong way. A couple of years ago they had such an argument they refused to talk for six months. They made up, eventually, but things were different after that. Even so, they had their moments; Alfred did radiate this aura of cheerfulness, and when Arthur was down that always made him feel better.

Just, having them under his roof for God-knows-how-long did frighten him a bit.

It wouldn't be good for his plan to isolate himself for two weeks.

* * *

"I hate this apartment", Francis moaned as he walked out of his room, hair messy from sleep. Emilie glanced him over the newspaper.

"Why so?"

"I haven't slept properly since we moved here. You know that isn't good for me."

"Yes, yes, but it was the same in the last two apartments. It took you a while to get used to them. Then you could handle yourself better. Just wait for a while, it-"

"There's 'Fernando Alonso is a big fat dick' written on the ceiling."

Emilie rolled her eyes. "You can blame Jean-Pierre on that."

"It makes me nervous", Francis whined and slumped on the sofa.

* * *

"Please Arthur, don't do it. Let's just order something, please, I'll pay, honestly, you can decide, it can be anything, chinese, pizza, indian, just anything, please, just _don't cook_", Alfred begged. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Nonsense! I will not have empty pizza boxes gathering and forming mountains in my flat, I know you and your brother live like pigs. I will cook, that's final."

"Arthur, please consider, you might be charged with murder...", Matthew cut in, a pleading look in his eyes. Arthur huffed. "I don't understand why you two detest my food so much. There's nothing wrong in it-"

"Except it's burnt", Alfred noted, and Matthew nodded. "And breaks your teeth."

"And if not burnt, it's raw. Or both."

"We don't want salmonella, thank you very much."

Arthur lifted his hands up in defeat. "Fine. Do it your way. Order something. But you will take care of the trash, understood?"

The twins cheered, and Alfred grabbed his cellphone. "What ya guys want?"

"Pizza sounds good", Matthew suggested as he browsed trough Arthur's takeaway flyers. "Here's the Vargas Pizzeria number."

Arthur retreated into his room for a quiet moment with his Jane Austen novel. It hadn't been even a day, and already the boys were annoying him to the point of insanity. So what if his food was crude on the outside, it was still perfectly edible! And no one had ever had salmonella because of him. Atleast, not that he knew of.

* * *

Francis hadn't talked to Arthur for a couple of days, but he managed to find out all by himself Arthur had some visitors over; he could hear the muffled argument from the apartment next door. Now, normally he would just let it be, but knowing the skills of the Englishman in a proper verbal fight he was curious to know who had dared to challenge him; it was a great pleasure, even if he would rather be castrated than admit it, to argue with Arthur, very much thanks to the creative use of insults and curses he used. Plus, he was a stubborn little prick. Francis enjoyed those fights, even if he certainly did not enjoy Arthur's existance. But, what can you do. Besides, he had managed to make some money because of him, and Emilie considered the oddball as a good neighbour, so he guessed Arthur was okay.

The Frenchman had a plastic cup pressed against the wall so he could hear better the course of the agrument. Most words were beyond comprehending, but some properly pronounced and emphatised were quite understandable, such as "wanker", "yankee", "pizza", "fatty", "old guy", "limey" and "fuck". Francis chuckled; why on earth he would need a TV if he could do this?

"That's not polite, Francis", Emilie noted from the kitchen. The blonde rolled his eyes. "I know, that's why I won't tell _Sourcils._"

"You have a nickname for him now? How sweet", she said, and Francis shot a glare. "It is not a nickname, it's an insult."

"Whatever. Have you got rid of the writing on your ceiling?" she changed the subject. Francis groaned. "I tried, but it's wont wash out; I need some proper chemicals, I think."

"Fantastic. No Grand Prix for Jean-Pierre again."

"Do you happen to know who Arthur is socialising with?" Francis asked, changing the subject.

"His brothers are staying with him for a while. We had a chat when I got back from work. He seemed a little irritated, actually."

"Judging by the words, he is a bit more than that", Francis chuckled as a string of swears was heard from the apartment next door. Emilie sighed. "Stop that. I'll tell Arthur you stalk him if you don't."

"I do not _stalk _him. I just find his social life amusing, that it", Francis argued, and finally left his position and walked to his sister, tossing the cup into the sink.

"New poetry, eh?" Francis said. Emilie nodded. She was holding her tiny black notebook with a stern expression on her face. "I quite don't know if this is good enough to be published. It's a bit of a cliché."

"Well, de-cliché it. You can do it."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not that simple, idiot."

"Harsh words. I'm offended. Obviously Arthur's company does no good for you", Francis pouted. Emilie sighed. "We're not in school anymore, Francis. I can choose my company and I can assure you, Arthur is a fine man. We're adults, even though you tend to forget that."

"I don't forget that. I behave like an adult", Francis opposed.

"Of course. Since adults spy their neighbours."

* * *

What kind of a person calls you at 7:30 in the morning?

Manon Hergé.

Only Manon fucking Hergé does that.

And only Manon Hergé is that cheerful and hyped and alert and so-very business at that ungodly hour. Arthur Kirkland knew this better than anyone. There he was, at his breakfast table, and all of a sudden his cellphone wakes up and demands attention. Matthew and Alfred, still not quite awake, almost had heart attacks. With colourful swears, Arthur grabbed the phone and accepted the call.

"Why on Earth, no, why on HELL, are you calling this bloody early?" he greeted his beloved publisher. Manon laughed at the other end.

"Well, I had to tell you I have reserved a table in Ocean Dragon at seven today so we can celebrate-"

"What?!"

"Ocean Dragon, the Chinese restaurant. You know it, it's the place where we got too drunk last year and they threw us out-"

"I know that! But I told you to not reserve anything!" Arthur shouted. It was useless.

"Yeah, I know, but Arthur dear, when have I actually listened to your requests? We're going to have a fun night and eat a lot and that's it. The table's for seven people. Invite some friends of yours. I'll pay!" she chirped. Arthur's head met the table with a loud thump Manon certainly heard. Matthew and Alfred looked at their older brother with puzzled looks.

"Manon, no-"

"Don't be like that! You can't say no. I refuse to let you be alone."

"Well I'm not exactly alone since my brothers are here", Arthur muttered.

"Splendid! You don't have to give them a call."

"Manon, I don't want to go out tonight-"

"Yes you do. Come on Arthur, you need to shake of the dust on you! Shake that booty! Get crazy!"

"I thought we were going to a Chinese restaurant instead of a bleeding night club."

"That's a yes! We're going to Ocean Dragon!"

"What, no-"

"It's a yeeees~" she sang, and Arthur sighed. "Fine. I'm too tired to argue with you. What was the time again?"

"Seven o'clock. I'll be waiting in front of the restaurant. Bring some friends!"

"I guess I have to", Arthur sighed and ended the call. Matthew and Alfred looked at him, waiting for the explanation why Arthur had suddenly decided to get friendly with the table.

"I'm not going to cook tonight", the Brit announced and reached for his tea.

Ignoring the praises and cheering of his brothers was surprisingly difficult.

Especially when Alfred fell on his knees and yelled at the ceiling "Praise the Lord, praise the little baby Jesus, praise them!"

* * *

Francis was quite surprised to see Arthur behind their door, slight blush on his cheeks. The Brit was, obviously, cross, and most likely because it was Francis who answered the door. Well, Emilie was shopping, so not much to choose from.

"My my, what gives me the honour?" Francis cooed, and got a nasty scowl from Arthur. "Sod off, Frog. Is Emilie here?"

"I'm afraid not. What do you want?"

Arthur sighed and bit his lip. Francis raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

"My publisher decided this would be the perfect night to go celebrate the release of my new book, and I have to invite some people there. As much as I dislike you, you did create the cover for the book so I kind of have to invite you because it is polite thing to do and you helped me with the whole ordeal even if I don't want to do that. So if you and Emilie are free tonight, join us in Ocean Dragon at seven."

The sudden rant that fell out of Arthur's mouth surprised Francis and it took him a while to digest it all. Then a smug smile appeared on his face.

"My, I'm almost flattered by the disgust in your voice. Hmm, I wonder if I have enough energy to put up with your company..."

"Spare me from your teasing. Are you coming or not?" Arthur demanded the answer, thick brows furrowing, and Francis shrugged. The Brit huffed in annoyance.

"If Emilie hasn't got any plans for tonight, yes. Do remember I will attend this event only with Emilie", Francis said, getting goosebumps even thinking of the idea of him being with the sour Englishman without the help (stopping him from strangling the annoying so-called gentleman) of his dear sister.

"I wouldn't dream of anything else."

"Who else are coming?"

"My brothers and my publisher. Maybe a friend of mine if he can make it."

"And you?"

"It depends on if you are coming", Arthur spat and turned around. Francis laughed. "Oh, so you actually wish to see my gorgeous face there?"

"No, if you are coming I will be ill", he answered and escaped to the safety of his own flat.

"_Abruti_", Francis muttered and closed the door.

* * *

**...Nonsense. Like I said. Also, lovely sexual tension beginning to crackle.**


End file.
